Telephone
by LazyCreeper
Summary: "What's the point of having a mobile if you're not going to answer it when I call?"  Drarry, drabble, EWE!


**Warnings: **Uhm. It's a oneshot, it's a Drarry, it's an EWE! Hurrah! Male/male, mild sexual themes, and I do believe ONE utterance of a swear word. :P

**Author's Notes: **I tried to write something for my other fics and I just couldn't. Selective writer's block, I guess? And is it still considered a drabble if it's ~1500 words long? I dunno.

* * *

"_Dra_co," Harry said, kicking the front door shut behind him. "What's the use of having a mobile if you're never going to answer it when I call?"

Said mobile was clutched in Draco's long fingers as he spoke, tapping away at the keys. Over the past few weeks, Draco had gotten attached to the silly little piece of Muggly magic Harry insisted he keep for emergencies. He loved playing the games on it—much more fascinating than Wizard's Chess or Exploding Snap, he thought. He tapped at the _Ignore _button if Harry called and he was too busy faffing about with the block-drop game to talk to him, though. _Honestly_.

"Are you even _listening _to me?" Harry said, falling onto the couch beside him, looking him in the eye. Draco didn't glance up from the screen illuminating his face with an eerie white glow.

Draco was in another one of those _moods_, Harry knew. He had upset him last night. Something about Draco trying to tell him something 'heartfelt' and he had been too busy thumbing through a Quidditch magazine to notice. He almost deserved this. But not quite.

He curled his arms around Draco, who stiffened under Harry's touch. Harry chuckled and whispered Parseltongue in his ear, meshing his mouth into white-blonde hair. Draco couldn't understand what he was saying, but he knew it was something good. He relaxed into Harry's grip. That was something that always drove Draco crazy, Parseltongue. Harry could never figure out why, but if it could actually make the stuffy git smile, why not?

"You really are insufferable sometimes," Draco sighed, abandoning his block-drop game to curl himself into Harry's warmth.

"_And you're a lazy prat_," Harry whispered in Parseltongue. "_But you're _my_ lazy prat_."

"Now I think you're just saying nasty things about me, Potter," Draco said, but he was smiling that smile all the same. There were only two times when Draco used Harry's last name: when he was feeling _loving _for a change, or when he was so angry that he kicked Harry out of the bedroom and made him sleep on the couch. Which happened a lot more than he'd like to admit, but more often than not when that happened, he woke up with Draco impossibly wedged between his side and the back of the couch.

Ah, Harry could steer the conversation in one of three ways now. One, whisper more Parseltongue into Draco's neck, dragging it all over the blonde's body, and literally charming the pants off of him. Two, he could fuck it all up saying a stupid comeback that _he _thought was brilliant and would make Draco laugh, but only to have Draco think it was horridly insulting. And he would be sleeping on the couch. Again.

Or three, he could take the much less adventurous, but much safer route.

"So how's your mother?" he asked offhandedly.

"Good answer," Draco said, giving him a kiss on the cheek—which, for Draco to stoop so low as to be _cute _with cheek kisses, that was really a monumental achievement. Harry mentally high-fived himself. "She's well. She owled today. She asked about you."

"Yeah?" Harry said, interest piqued. Narcissa Malfoy was where Draco inherited his fleeting glances of fiery compassion. Harry quite liked her. And she quite liked Harry, probably because her son spent all his time with the Saviour of the Wizarding World instead of some hex-riddled, two-Sickle whore of her nightmares. But Harry wasn't so fond of Lucius Malfoy, who was the one who kicked Draco out in the first place for discovering he was dating a half-blood—no, he wasn't concerned about the fact that Harry was a _non-woman_, just the fact that he was a _non-pureblood_—and the reason he and Draco were currently sharing a bed. Not that he was complaining too much about that, though.

"She wants to come and visit sometime," he said.

"Come and visit?" Harry repeated. Harry raked his eyes around the living room of 12 Grimmauld Place, thinking it was handsome and quaint. What Draco's mother would think of this place, though…he didn't even want to think about it.

Draco seemed to read his mind. "She's not like Father, she doesn't turn her nose up at things anymore," he said. "Unlike Father she's sort of realized that…there are more important things out there than money."

Draco bit his tongue. Damn him and his _feelings_. There was implied meaning behind that—how Draco himself had come to realize there were more important things out there than worldly possessions (which is why he didn't bat an eyelash when his father kicked him out of the Manor for snogging Golden Boy). And Harry picked up on it like a homing beacon. He was uncannily good at searching out Draco's true feelings in even the minutest of things. And for this…he'd never hear the end of it now.

And here comes the first wave, he thought, as Harry curled his lips into a lopsided grin and used said lips to press against his own. His agitation quickly evaporated as he felt needy fingers pressing against his back, pulling him closer, closer, closer, until he thought if Harry squeezed him any harder his ribs would snap in half. He smiled into Harry's kiss, and Harry found this a great opportunity to slip his tongue in and rake it lazily across Draco's. That was probably Draco's _second _favorite thing Harry did—when it came to kissing, old Scarhead really knew how to tease.

"You really should—say things like that—more often," Harry said, spitting his sentence out between kisses.

"You know I'm not—the emotional type—Harry," Draco replied.

Before Draco could even realize what was happening, Harry had tipped him back on the couch, his mobile tumbling from his lap and skittering across the hardwood. Harry had Draco's shirt yanked halfway up, the revealing white, white skin of his torso that he loved so much, when his wand, tucked away inside his robe pocket, began to vibrate furiously—something Draco and Harry both knew meant that he was due back at the Ministry because of some 'emergency.' Draco sighed audibly and rolled his eyes.

"What's that about you not being the emotional type, Dray?" Harry said as Draco quickly spiraled down into another of his _moods_, turning his face away from Harry. But Harry didn't care. He gave him a sloppy, wet kiss on the cheek anyway, which caused Draco to snarl in pseudo-disgust. Harry laughed.

"Don't worry, we'll pick up where we left off when I get back," Harry said, clambering off of the couch. Draco turned his back to him. Harry sighed and shook his head.

"Good_bye_, Draco," Harry called before he stepped outside to the Apparation point. Draco didn't say anything.

"Now," Harry said, hand lingering on the door handle. "What would you do if something happened to me tonight and I never came home? Do you know what your last words to me would be? They'd be _'you know I'm not the emotional type, Harry_.' It'd be a bit ironic, don't you think? Well, if you want that on your conscience…"

Draco still didn't say anything. He had scooped his mobile back up and had resumed his game. Harry sighed, shaking his head, his hair shagging down into his glasses as he eased the door shut behind him.

Harry had made it about, oh, _five _steps toward his office when his mobile buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen. It could only be one of two people—Draco, or Hermione, who also kept a Muggle mobile for emergencies. It was Draco, of course. He thought about clicking _Ignore _on it like Draco had done to him no less than a dozen times today, but Harry decided to be merciful. He clicked the _Answer _button.

"Hullo?"

"I love you," Draco blurted.

Harry laughed. "_Much _better last words, don't you think?"

"Don't talk like that." He sounded…was that worry in his voice? Harry sighed.

"Sorry."

"'S fine."

"I've got to go, I—"

"_Wait._"

"What?"

"I—I'm sorry." Malfoys did _not _apologize. This was yet another monumental accomplishment. Harry felt proud.

"For what?"

"For—for being a prat, I guess." Harry could practically hear him grimace through the phone. He smiled.

"Your mother can visit any time she wants."

"Tomorrow?"

"Fine."

"Will you be here?"

"Yeah, I—I've _really _got to go now, I'm about to get to the office, I'll talk to you in a b—"

"I love you."

Harry laughed. "Love you."

_Click._

Harry was always the first to hang up because Draco could never figure out how. He shuddered at the thought of the day Draco would stumble upon how to make his little Muggle mobile send out text messages—he'd never get him to shut up.

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**End Notes: **The day after I wrote this, my phone snapped COMPLETELY IN HALF (keyboard on one half, screen on the other) and I had to get a new one - which, I was up for an upgrade I knew nothing about and I got one that was super bad-a. Coincidence? I THINK NOT. :O


End file.
